CHAPTER 26
It was the throbbing pain—like an iron spike hitting with a clanging rhythm against the back of his skull—that slowly brought Wrexford awake. He squeezed his eyes open and shut several times, feeling dizzy and disoriented as he tried to bring the murky gloom into focus.
He was lying on a stone surface, surrounded by a strange dampness that seemed both hot and cold. The metallic rattling grew louder, punctuated by a steady stream of hissing and whooshing.
Perhaps I’m dead and consigned to the bowels of Purgatory or the belly of a dyspeptic dragon.
No, he decided, tentatively shifting his limbs. If he had given up the ghost, he’d be in Hell and it would be decidedly hotter. Which was small consolation, as it felt like a regiment of devils had run roughshod over his head with their cloven hooves.
“Awake, are you?” asked a voice from somewhere close by in the ink-dark murk.
Wrexford grunted and managed to sit up. “No thanks to you, Blodgett.” His fingers gingerly felt at the lump behind his left ear. “I assume you have a reason for abducting me rather than slitting my throat.”
A steel struck flint, taking several tries to spark a candle stub to light.
“I’ve no idea why you’ve been added to our motley band.” The flame illuminated the face of an utter stranger. Behind him, the earl could vaguely make out several boys huddled up against a brick wall. “But I’d guess it has something to do with The Behemoth.”
Whoosh-clang, Whoosh-clang. A serpentine swirl of silvery vapor suddenly slithered in from under the heavy planked door. Wrexford winced, realizing the noise and steam were not a figment of his imagination.
“Who the devil are you?” he asked warily.
“Benedict Hillhouse,” came the answer. “Who the devil are you?”
“His Nibs—Lord Wrexford!” answered a reedy voice.
The earl turned and saw it belonged to a painfully thin boy who looked to be half a head shorter than the two others. He looked familiar . . .
“Oiy, remember me—I’m Skinny,” volunteered the boy. “A friend o’ Raven ’n Hawk.”
Skinny. One of the clever little urchins who had proved so useful during the Holworthy investigation. “I’m glad to see you alive, lad,” he said.
“Yeah, well, I don’t fink we’ll be suckin’ wind fer much longer,” said Skinny matter-of-factly, which set the other boys to whimpering. “We seen their phizes, so they ain’t gonna let us get live, once they’ve no more use fer us.”
“We’ll see about that,” muttered the earl. “How did they come to snatch a clever fellow like you?”
The boy made a rueful face. “Billy Bones had filched some ale from the tavern where he sweeps up and shared a tipple wiv me while we wuz rolling dice. So I wuz bosky when a cove arsked me iffen I wanted te make a shilling by helping ’im carry some coal te his wagon.
Udderwise I wudda been smart enough te smell a rat.
Before I knew it, he whacked me in the brainbox, an’ well, here I be. ”
“Don’t fret, lad. The game isn’t over yet,” said Wrexford, and then turned back to Benedict. “You’ve led us on a merry chase, Mr. Hillhouse. I take it you’re not part of the plot to steal Ashton’s invention.”
“Bloody hell, no!” exclaimed Benedict. He quickly added, “How is Octavia? Is she—”
“Safe and well,” he assured.
“Thank God.” Benedict pulled a face. “To think we were so blind! We suspected the widow—and perhaps you—of nefarious doings, only to miss the obvious suspect. We should have immediately thought of Geoffrey Blodgett. He’s always felt he’s been dealt an unfair hand by Lady Luck.
For years, he’s simmered with resentment that he didn’t have money, privilege, fortune.
” Another grimace. “And now I know why.”
Wrexford frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He’s Blackstone’s bastard,” replied Benedict. “But for a piece of paper, he would be the marquess’s heir. He’s a month older than Lord Kirkland, but born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“Kirkland’s dead,” interjected the earl.
“Oh, yes, Geoffrey has boasted of that. He comes in every day to taunt me with the diabolical details of how clever he and his father have been.” Benedict shook his head.
“He’s always been an arrogant sot, though he hid it well from Eli.
It defies all sense of decency that a father would conspire to kill his own son, but apparently Blackstone and Geoffrey are bound by morals as well as blood. ”
“The marquess knows Blodgett murdered his half brother?”
“Aye, it was at his orders that Kirkland was killed. Apparently he was wheedling the widow for money—I don’t know why—and Blackstone was furious that it would interfere with his own plan. Which, by the by, is to patent Eli’s innovation as their own—”
“Yes,” interrupted the earl. “We figured that out. However, we assumed it was you and the viscount, and that you’d be selling the idea to McKinlock, as he has the money and means to manufacture it.”
Benedict flashed a rueful smile. “Lud, I should have thought of that,” he said dryly.
“But no, it’s the marquess and Geoffrey.
They will go through the outward signs of mourning Eli, while they secretly build a prototype based on his innovations.
Geoffrey is very skilled with mechanical devices, and his expertise with steam will make it plausible to most people that he came up with the idea on his own. ”
“The key is in filing the patent,” mused Wrexford. “The one who claims it first has the great advantage.”
“Precisely,” agreed Benedict. “They are betting on the fact that Mrs. Ashton will flounder in trying to run the mill. Geoffrey, of course, will use his guile to see to it that things go awry. Eli’s investors will be convinced by Blackstone to back a new steam engine company—run by Blackstone, of course—as Ashton’s company will be seen as worthless with a woman at the helm. ”
The earl shifted, trying to dispel the lingering muzziness in his head.
“By the by, Mrs. Ashton is not an enemy. She has always been completely loyal to her husband and his work. Miss Merton will explain all the details, but she and the widow have reconciled their misconceptions of each other. They believe the motivation for the heinous murders is the fact that Ashton was planning on using the profits from the patent for improving the lives of his workers rather than lining the pockets of already wealthy men.”
“Yes, that’s true,” confirmed Benedict. “Blackstone lusts for money, though he’s already a very rich man.
However, from what I’ve gleaned from the talk here, it’s also a lust for power and establishing a legacy for the ages.
Geoffrey is smart, ambitious and ruthless—exactly the sort of son Blackstone yearned for.
Together, they dream of becoming titans of the British economy.
The world is changing, trade is expanding around the globe. They intend to dominate it.”
Their own empire within an empire, thought Wrexford.
“Though there does seem to be some friction between them,” added Benedict. “I overheard a rather heated argument yesterday. Blackstone was furious that Blodgett killed a second radical agitator. Said he was getting too bloodthirsty, and that too many bodies would wreck all their plans.”
The earl rubbed at his still-throbbing skull. A great many pieces of the puzzle were finally fitting together. And yet . . .
“So,” he asked slowly, “what is it they need from you?”
And what is it they need from me?
“Ah, yes, why are we enjoying the comforts of their hospitality?” Benedict cracked his knuckles. “If you notice, our hands aren’t bound. That’s because they need our skill to—”
A rap on the door cut off his words, followed by a gruff order. “Stand back!” Metal scraped against metal as the lock released and the hinges pivoted.
Wrexford squinted as a blade of lantern light hit him square in the face.
“I see you’re awake, Lord Wrexford.” Blodgett, still armed with a brace of pistols and accompanied by the brute with the cudgel, motioned for the earl to rise. “Come with me.”
* * *
Charlotte forced herself to fight off the fear taking hold of her heart. She must think. Think!
Her guess had been right, but it had come a heartbeat too late. But at least the enemy was now known, she reasoned, and Raven’s rushed explanation of the earl’s abduction offered some faint thread of hope.
The boy had managed to hide himself and watch as Blodgett’s accomplice had found a hackney and, with jesting comments about their drunken friend, maneuvered the earl into the cab.
With a clear description of the vehicle, there was, she assured herself, a good chance that through their network of street urchins and night creepers they would be able to track it to its final destination.
After all, there must be a reason they were keeping the earl alive . . .
She looked up and met Raven’s grim gaze.
“I’m gonna rouse Hawk, and we’ll spread the word on what we’re looking fer,” he said, a note of defiance edging his voice.
“You’re hurt,” she replied, though there was little force behind her words.
“Bugger that,” he retorted. “We ain’t gonna leave him in the lurch.”
No, we ain’t.
“We’ll set up a command post here,” said McClellan to Raven.
“If anyone has something to report, have them send it here. When you and your brother finish making your rounds, return here—no, on second thought, you must stop and inform Tyler of what has happened, and have him alert Mr. Sheffield. Then return here at once. Mrs. Sloane may need you.”
Raven nodded and dashed off for the stairs before any protest could be raised.
“Thank you,” said Charlotte simply. The maid’s show of calm, quick-witted competence helped steady her own nerves.
A plan of her own was now taking shape. “I must head to Mr. Henning’s surgery.
” Raven had told her about the rendezvous with Griffin.
Though she dreaded what it might entail, there was really no choice.